


Normal

by oldseafarer



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Falling In Love, Love, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldseafarer/pseuds/oldseafarer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint loved her for her smile. Perhaps it was a cliché thing for which to love her, but this was a story told a hundred times and originality was inconsequential. </p><p>Or, how Clint fell in love with Darcy and promptly screwed it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little 5+1 fic. It got away from me a bit. No beta, so mistakes are mine.  
> Also, I have no idea what is going on with the paragraphs. I fixed the indentations twice now.
> 
> Disclaimer: Avengers is not mine and this is a piece of fan work for which I am not getting paid. (Alas.)

 

Clint loved her for her smile. Perhaps it was a cliché thing for which to love her, but this was a story told a hundred times and originality was inconsequential.

He first saw her smile in passing; Clint had no idea who she was. She laughed with another SHIELD agent, her head tossed back, dark hair swaying. If this had been a poem or an epic love story, perhaps it would be the moment that he fell in love with her.

It wasn’t.

Clint saw her, took note of her, and let her pass. She was a pretty girl (emphasis on the _girl_ ) and had an easy smile. In an organization like SHIELD, there was always a need for smiles. (This life shaped faces into frowns like a priest with his knife, there was always blood and a sacrifice.)

He started to notice her a month later and once he did, Clint wondered how she had ever slipped his notice before. It wasn’t that she was stalking him or the opposite. Yet, the moment she walked by always seemed to be the moment he looked up.

Clint spotted her, hair up and in heels, saying something to Pepper Potts. This smile lit her eyes too, tugging at the corners of her mouth like it needed to escape. He passed her wandering the halls of Avengers Tower in the wee hours of the morning, a tray of mugs in her hands and glasses sliding down her nose. She walked with a self-deprecating smirk; she knew the time and the ridiculousness of her situation.

Three months after that first smile, Clint officially met Darcy Lewis. The stretch of time had not been born out of avoidance. (Pretty girls were intimidating, yeah, but didn’t scare him into hiding.) Missions had called him away. Unlike the other avengers, SHIELD _was_ his day job.  Yet when he returned from Mexico City, everyone seemed to know her. They all loved her. She was a fixture in their lives, adopted as easily as JARVIS.

 

-

“Oh Darcy?” Tony’s attention was on the engine in front of him. In one dirty hand he held a wrench. “I don’t know where she came from. With Foster maybe? Or Pep? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. One day she was just here badgering me to eat and sleep. I don’t need another babysitter. I need to reprogram JARVIS as it is.”

Clint just stared at him, arms crossed, until Tony barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, maybe I do.” In a tank top with grease streaked across his cheeks, Tony leaned back and met Clint's eyes. “I dunno. I like her. She doesn’t take shit from anyone. You’ve met her. You know.”

Clint walked away.

Steve was marginally more helpful. He paused, pencil in hand and sketchbook open on the table. “Miss Lewis, I mean, Darcy, came with Doctor Jane Foster. Doctor Foster is the astrophysicist who reconnected Asgard and Earth. Darcy had been her lab assistant, as I understand it. I don’t know her official title now. She does a little of everything?” Steve’s face wrinkled as he thought. “She is patient in explaining things to me, even if, ah, her language isn’t always what I expect.”

Tony had alluded to something similar. “What does that even mean?” Clint asked, eyebrows high.

Steve scratched the side of his neck. “You will understand once you meet her. She is very smart and very good with people. Although a civilian, she is an asset to the team. We needed another point of view, something without science or the military coloring it.”

That Clint understood.

 

-

He finally met her one morning in the kitchen. Darcy sat on the counter eating a bowl of cereal. She kicked her bare feet while she ate and he noticed her toes were painted bright green.

“Captain Crunch?” Clint commented, nodding towards the box beside her. “What are you, five?”

“Whatever Robin Hood, I don’t need your judgment this early in the morning. I’ve been working all night thanks to Tony-I’m-Not-As-Fucking -Smart-As-I-Think-I-am-Stark.” She poured more cereal into her bowl.

“I’m Clint.” He said, reaching a hand out towards her.

Darcy ignored his hand and took another bite. “I know.” Her lips turned up, cheeks full of food.

Clint poured himself some coffee and hopped up onto the counter opposite her. “You do?”

“Yes, Katniss, I do. I’ve known for a while, but it _is_ nice of you to finally acknowledge my presence. Who do you think keeps this place from devolving into a frat house?” She pushed her hair over her shoulder and he realized that she was in leggings and—

“Is that an Iron Man sweatshirt?”

“Yeah, what of it?” Darcy glanced down briefly. “I stole it from the ass, but I don’t think he cares. Apparently he had them made up for the Stark Expo? Eh, I just don’t think that guy can avoid an opportunity for self promotion or to make a buck.”

Clint choked on his coffee.

Darcy put down the bowl and leaned back against the cabinet. “It’s about time we talked.”

“Oh really?”

“I know everyone else now. I know how to take care of them. Everyone, but you.” She arched an eyebrow pointedly.

To his surprise, Clint found that he liked her attitude. “That sounds dirty.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Darcy agreed. “If only. Nah, my story is much less exciting. Basically I was Jane’s babysitter. Then I came with her to SHIELD, hoping for a life of intrigue. Instead Fury and Potts saw fit to make me babysit _all_ of you.”

Clint could only imagine what Pepper and Fury had seen in her to assign her such a role. Maybe a little of themselves in her? The stubbornness of Fury with the genteelness of Potts? “What does that entail, exactly?”

Darcy waggled her eyebrows and purred. “I get to make sure you eat and have _exactly_ what you need.”

“Chemicals, weapons…”

“Diapers, comic books…”

“Drugs, booze, hookers…”

Darcy beamed at him. “So you all ready understand my job. I am also the anonymous face that you guys use to interact with the world.”

“You’re our collective secret identity.” Clint smiled behind his mug.

“Bingo. Give the man a prize.” She cocked her finger at him, pretending to take aim.

He blinked at her, eyebrows twitching upwards. “I’m pretty self sufficient.”

Darcy smirked and lifted her chin. “That’s what they all say,” she countered.

“Even Natasha?”

Darcy slid onto the ground and winked at him. “I have a way of ferreting out people’s secret wants.”

“And you get paid for this?” Clint called after her as she walked away. “So you are a hooker.”

She paused to peer over her shoulder and her smile was something new. “That sounds dirty.”

 

-

She was right, Clint realized in a couple days. Darcy had an uncanny way of figuring out what people needed to be comfortable. It wasn’t that she was able to read them particularly well, or manipulate their emotions. She just had a sixth sense for the little things that make a person feel whole. In a world where the Avengers were invisible, hidden by shadows and masks, Darcy saw them.

It took her three weeks to figure him out. Until then, Darcy had made a point of talking to Clint. She asked him about his past (a topic he skirted around), his future (he just hoped to survive), and his interests (weapons, apparently, did not count). She would stare at him like he was puzzle, like he was a safe and once she found the right combination of facts she could unlock his secrets. It would have irritated him if Darcy did not do it so instinctively.

Clint talked to Natasha about her. They sat on the roof, drinking tea, and watching the clouds build over Brooklyn. Natasha had a knit shawl wrapped around her shoulders and softness in her eyes when Darcy was mentioned.

“What’s with her anyway?” Clint asked, leaning back in his chair.

A cool breeze swept over them, and Natasha pulled the shawl tighter. “She is normal, Clint.” She said finally, for Natasha always thought before she spoke. Her words steamed in the air. “We are broken people. We have been made and remade. Our skin is scarred and our hearts hard. It is both a necessity and a side effect of what we do.”

“What does this have to do with her?” Clint did not need a review of his life. He had not known a peaceful night’s sleep in years nor was he able to converse with someone without preparing himself for a fight. Broken was too kind a word for what he was.

“Darcy isn’t any of those things.” Natasha traced the edge of her teacup. “We are all soaked in blood, she is not. Her scars are from normal things, they are not born from violence.”

Clint shrugged. “People are people. Pain is pain. It is part of the human experience that shapes us; I am sure it has shaped her.”

Natasha smiled. “She gave me this, you know.”

“What?” He glanced around, settling on the table. “The tea?”

She nodded. “Darcy did some research and ordered me some Russian tea. She also knit me this.” Natasha gestured to the shawl with a small flick of her fingers.

“Why?” To be a baby sitter did not mean playing Santa. Why did she want to buy Natasha?

“She just did it. Just because.”

“And you believe her?” Clint cocked his head to one side, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t get a brain injury while I was gone, right? Am I still talking to Natalia Romanova? The Black Widow? If not, can I leave a message?”

“Oh please, you think I don’t know the language of gifts?” Natasha shook out her hair and the wind pushed through it. “The girl honestly just gave me these things because she thought I would enjoy them.”

“But that’s _weird_.”

She rolled her eyes. “Darcy does it for everyone. And it is _normal_. It is normal thing for nice people to do.”

“But we aren’t normal or nice.”

“That’s my point, Clint.” Natasha met his eyes. “She _is._ ”

 

-

Eventually Darcy figured something out. She did not discover any secret of his, Clint noted. She just paid attention and filed the information away for later. They all did that; it was just that Darcy used the information for _good_. The rest of them saved it for tactics.

He returned to his room one day, sore and sweaty from training, and found a note taped to his door. Curiosity prompted Clint to follow the instructions and he showed up in the kitchen later that afternoon. He doubted that Darcy would actually be able to get him anything. (He was _fine._ Honestly.)

She was singing along to Billy Joel when he entered. Darcy smiled at him, and did not stop. Her hair clipped back and there was a spatula in her hand.

“I made you crepes!” Darcy announced, sweeping her hand above the counter. Bowls of cut fruit littered the marble. She slid a fresh crepe onto a plate and passed it to Clint.

Never one to turn down free food, he took it. “Why crepes?” Clint asked. He liked crepes sure, but they weren’t anything special to him. Honestly he liked pancakes better and French toast best of all.

Darcy dipped a spoon into Nutella and licked it, chocolate sticking to her lips. “I dunno. I heard you mention it last week? You said that you missed Paris and the crepes? I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to do.”

He vaguely remembered the conversation; he had been speaking with Pepper. Clint knew that Darcy had wandered by, but hadn’t realized she paid attention. She would make a good agent, he thought. She was attentive, smart, and willing to learn. That’s all a spy really needs if they were stubborn.

Darcy hummed to herself while she flipped another crepe, this time in mid air. “Yes! I did it! No spatula!” She crowed, throwing her arms up in the air. “Did you see that? I wonder if JARVIS caught it on tape. I need proof because there is _no_ way Jane is going to believe me.”

 _She is normal_. Natasha’s words, unprompted, crawled through his mind. Clint could see it now. Darcy was young and undamaged. She still could get joy out of simple things; she had not fought life, just to survive. She would make a good agent, it was still true. But, Clint realized, maybe being an agent would not be good for her.

 

- 

Two days later, Darcy found him on the roof. It was a quiet space, away from the madness of the scientists and the general chaos of the tower. There was not much of a view, the clouds and the light pollution rubbed out the stars. Across the city, tall office buildings glowed. Her approach was obvious, the door slamming shut and feet shuffling across cement.

“I always used to find Jane up on the roof too.” Darcy stopped beside him, pulling up her hood against the wind. “I don’t really get it. Do enclosed spaces inhibit brain function or something?”

Clint’s fingers tightened around the lip of the ledge. “I don’t know anything about that. I’m not a scientist.”

“So why do you do it?” Darcy asked.

He shrugged. “I see better from up here.”

It was barely an answer, but she didn’t push. “Well, we are going to watch Forrest Gump downstairs if you want to come.” Darcy laid her hand on his shoulder, rubbing it back and forth gently.

He suppressed the flinch but thought maybe she had felt it. Darcy was a normal person, he reminded himself. It was _normal_ to have casual physical contact, not everything was a calculated move. “Sure, why not.” Clint swung his legs over and landed next to her.

She smiled up at him and he couldn’t read the expression. He wondered if he would ever be able.  “Come on Legolas, let’s go.”

Three quarters of the way through the movie, only Steve and Clint were still paying attention. Natasha abruptly left the room after the introduction to Jenny’s home. And while Bruce and Tony were still physically present, their attention was elsewhere. The former had his nose in a scientific journal and the latter was on his tablet. As Forrest began his cross-country marathon, Darcy dozed off. She curled up at one end of the couch, her feet pressed against Clint’s thigh.

It was really distracting. Was he supposed to pull her legs over his lap? Move? Drape a blanket over her? Suddenly, he did not know where to put his arm. (Could he rest it on her calves? Her hip?) He was trained in hostage negotiations, in four different languages, but he could not figure out what do with a sleeping girl. It was stupid. SHIELD taught him how to be extraordinary and in that he forgot how to be ordinary.

Darcy had fallen asleep so easily. Her hood was still pulled up and her hands tucked under her chin; she was comfortable. Clint could not remember the last time he had idly fallen asleep. Darcy had dozed off next to him, trusting him, although they barely knew each other.

It went against all of his instincts.

 

-

It took another month for Clint to realize Darcy was interested in him. In every interaction, with every smile, she flirted with him. Clint had thought that was just friendliness, until Natasha had literally beat the obvious into him.

“Just ask her out, you idiot.” She growled, her arm locked around his throat. “This is getting pathetic.”

“What is?” Clint gasped dropping to flip her.

“Her affection and your obvious internal conflict about liking her.” She rolled back onto her feet.

“I’m not conflicted!” He protested, and if it sounded feeble he blamed the recent attack. “She could ask _me_ out.”

Natasha kicked him in the chest. “We’re placing bets, you know. Stark has a pool going. His money is on Darcy making the first move. Mine is on you.” She dodged his punch and hit him again. “And I want to _win_.”

 

-

It wasn’t that he was _nervous_ , Clint was a grown man for pete’s sake. He had fought wars; his hands were rough from use. He threw himself off the tops of buildings without a second thought.

Still when it came to girls he actually liked, he had always reverted back into a teenage boy. (Give him a mission and he could play James Bond, suave and deadly. Give him a girl and he fell apart.)

It took him three days to muster up the courage and words to ask Darcy out, even with Natasha’s glares and Tony’s smirks.

In the end, it was awkward and Clint stumbled over his words.

Darcy smiled at him with fondness, patted his arm, and said, “Sure thing.” Then, “JARVIS, tell Tony that _I_ win and he can pay me in the morning.”

Clint dropped his head onto the table with a thud. Sometimes he thought his life was one big comedy and he was the punch line. It would certainly explain the scars.

Darcy giggled and rubbed his arm. “You know, for a spy, I thought you would have been less obvious.” She pursed her lips, “Unless, that was the point?”

He could have taken the offer of redemption and pulled a James Bond. Clint, however, never believed in starting relationships with lies, despite what Natasha said. “No, I’m just an idiot.” He peered up at her with an expression he hoped was endearing instead of pathetic.

“Yes well, you are a very _cute_ idiot.” Darcy’s hand slid down and tangled his fingers through hers. “And you are aware of your idiocy, which is more than I can say for most guys, to be honest.”

 

- 

Dating Darcy was surprisingly easy. Not that she was easy, Clint would be sure to assure her when he vocalized these thoughts. He never dated within SHIELD because he needed to be able to trust the other agents with his life. Their operations were too delicate to mess up with relationships. It was attempted, of course, and it always failed. (There was a scar on his calf as evidence of such fuckery.)

Clint never dated outside of SHIELD either. He did not want to lie to the girl, and he knew that at the end of the day it would never be fair to her. She could never know the truth about who he was, but without that a relationship would fail. In his professional life he lied, remembering stories that never happened and family members that didn't exist. In his personal life, Clint needed to be himself. (Or he might lose himself, the threat lurked in the back of his mind, unacknowledged.) Any relationship would be a sham and everyone would be hurt.

So Clint had satisfied himself with friends and brothers-in-arms. Of course, he was never opposed to the occasional one night stand, but that only satisfied his most physical of needs.

Once he explained this to her, Darcy shrugged as if it was obvious. “I’m the best of both worlds, and if you make a Hannah Montana joke I _will_ kick you.”

With an exaggerated straight face, Clint said, “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miley.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Like I was saying, I’m the best.” Darcy preened a little with the statement. “I am involved enough to know the truth about you, but because I am not actually an agent you don’t need to worry about being compromised.”

 _Again_. The word brought a shiver and a left him breathless.

Darcy lifted her hand to his face and leaned into him for a kiss. Then she stood, drawing him up with her.  She was always unwilling to let him wallow, but Clint appreciated her silence. “Come on, soldier. I’m going to let you buy me an ice cream.”

“That’s big of you.”

“I know.” Darcy tucked up against his side, arm around his waist. “I guess I’m just awesome like that.”

 

-

Dating it turned out, was fun too.

They started dragging each other to concerts. Darcy favored indie music festivals. (She admitted that by mocking the hipsters she would probably become one.) She wore feathers in her hair, lit sparklers and walked around barefoot. Clint preferred country music, even to the point of “borrowing” one of Stark’s planes to go down Nashville. (The fit Tony threw was worth it.) Darcy photographed all their adventures with her phone, even taking a picture of Clint’s ass in jeans.

They abused all that New York City had to offer. Darcy grew up in a small town in the southwest, so the cultural plethora that existed here entranced her. She hauled Clint from museum to museum, talking excitedly about political context and propaganda. It turned out Darcy loved modern art. Clint was fonder of history museums. (She teased that it was because of all the archers.)

They spent their days exploring the boroughs and their nights in international restaurants. Darcy had the lowest threshold for spicy food (she admitted that this was embarrassing for someone who grew jalapeños in their backyard). Clint on the other hand, loved the stuff. He told her about the food he ate in parts of the world she couldn’t even pronounce, although Darcy always tried. Stories of parasites and awkward cultural encounters spilled from him unbidden. Clint arranged geography with vegetables and she countered with the political histories.

“There were no winners in Vietnam.” Darcy exclaimed as they walked through Central Park. “I think we literally _all_ lost.”

“You’d be surprised.” Clint bumped his shoulder against hers. “It was a good time for spies.”

“Okay well that doesn’t count, the Cold War was the spy’s heyday.” She shook her head, and then froze. “Wait—how would you even know. You are not _that_ old.”

“Gee thanks.” He rolled his weight forward until the momentum forced him to step. October in New York was ideal; the park was a riot of reds and oranges. Golden sunlight filtered downward, the crisp breeze revealed a bright blue sky, and Clint supposed that it was pretty close to a perfect day.

Darcy skipped forward to catch up. She grabbed his hand, swinging it. “You never answered my question.”

Clint shrugged. “I talked to someone who lived through it.”

“Which one? Vietnam or the Cold War?”

“Both?” He thought back to the stories that Natasha had admitted one night in a daze of fever and vodka. “They were pretty much active from its start onward.”

Darcy whistled and it echoed through the trees. “Some spy. They must have been really good to survive that long.”

He grinned. “You have no idea.”

 

- 

Relationships were never easy. There was always a moment when you realize, _oh shit I am in too deep_ and then there was an opportunity to run. Clint experienced that moment after one of his missions, four months after they start dating.

He returned to the tower, exhausted and bruised. It was quiet, almost deserted at the late hour. Darcy sat in the kitchen, mug in hand, attention glued to the television. “This is stupid.” She announced, eyes cutting over towards him.

Clint’s breath stopped and his first thought was, _now?_

“These idiots on Capital Hill are proposing that the Avengers become elected positions.” Darcy’s lips twisted in disgust. “I hate all these people who criticize you guys. Like, you are _literally_ risking life and limb to protect the American public. How can they ignore that? You guys aren’t just celebrities with no personal costs and reality shows.”

 Clint breathed again and leaned heavily against the counter.

The thud brought a guilty expression to Darcy’s face. She hurried over and wrapped her arms around his middle. “I’m sorry. I’m whining about ingratitude and here I am, doing the exact same thing. Hello sweetie, it is nice to see you. Are you hurt?”

“Nothing serious.” He twisted around to face her.

Darcy frowned. Her fingertips brushed along his shoulders and chest, checking for bandages herself. “Okay. What about the unserious things?”

Clint rolled one shoulder. “I’ve had worse,” he muttered.

She kissed him, bouncing up onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I amglad that you are safe. I am sorry I didn’t give you a proper greeting.”

“It doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes it does.” Darcy shook her head. “It always matters. You look exhausted. Was it particularly bad?”

He considered the burned out compound he left in Bolivia and the shipment of cocaine that was _not_ going north. “No. They were proper villains and everything.” Clint could still smell the smoke and the moist earth he had left behind.

“Any casualties?” She asked in a neutral tone, but her body tensed for the answer.

“None on our side.” He knew the guy who ran into the jungle with an arrow in his thigh wouldn’t survive. They had tried to evacuate the compound before burning it, but there was no assurance in these things.

Darcy hummed a little and Clint wondered what she was thinking. She couldn’t excuse the loss of life, but she couldn’t blame him. She knew he blamed himself. “I am sorry that it came to that.” She murmured eventually.

Clint hugged her close. He had expected no absolution and hoped for no condemnation. Instead she had met him where he stood, in that shaky purgatory. Sinful and stained, he knew of no heaven that would admit him. Yet would hell take him? Had the ends justified the means? Were actions committed under mind control his fault? Did the slaughter of aliens qualify as murder?

Questions and regrets haunted Clint after every mission. On good nights, he could push them into the back of his mind. On bad nights, he took his bow, his bottle, and climbed.

He never found the answers and suspected they did not exist. Darcy had offered none and that was better than a hundred false platitudes.

He loved her for it.

 

-

So, of course, like any logical human being, he messed everything up. Clint could not remember the last time he had said _I love you_. Maybe never? No, that couldn’t be right. He was pretty sure that he said it to Barney at some point when they were very young, back when he was still innocent. He had whispered it to his bow. He loved Natasha but their relationship is not something to be verbalized. She would probably knock him out again if he ever said _I love you_ to her.

That being established, Clint realized that he loved Darcy and, being in a relationship and all, he was supposed to _tell her_ at some point.

He had been beaten unconscious seven times. Held at gunpoint on more occasions than he could count. Nothing was as terrifying as saying those three little words to a girl he liked.  No, wait, _loved._

Instead Clint took the next mission that popped up, and the one after that. When he was in town, he spent his time at the archery range or the gym. He was cool and distant with Darcy and if guilt pinched him as her face fell, he ignored it.

He told himself that it would be better this way. He would be a better agent without a distraction dancing through his thoughts. She deserved a real life with someone who could be home with her. Darcy was young, Clint rationalized, and she would bounce back. The pain she experienced would be fleeting, and while his would last longer, he could handle it.

Finally, Darcy called him out on his shit. “If you want to break up with me, then do it!” She yelled, red in the face and hands fisted. “Don’t string me along like I don’t matter!”

 _This was it_ , Clint realized, this was going to be the end.

She paced back and forth across the corner of the roof that had become _their_ space. (Jane had a telescope and a box of blankets in the opposite corner.) Above, the sky was grey and heavy with spring snow. “I mean, I figured out that you don’t want me. That I am too boring and young and stupid. I just hoped that you respected me enough to just end it!” She shouted, throwing her arms around. Darcy walked with purpose, with pain. She spun to face him. “Man up, Barton, or so help me, I’ll do it!”

The tears in her eyes made him sick, but Clint drew on his most emotionless mask. “We had fun.” He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t expect this to be long term, did you?”

“Actually? Yeah, I kind of did.” Darcy put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “That’s why you enter a relationship, in the hopes that it will be long lasting! If I just wanted to fuck around, I could have done that.  I’m sorry I wanted something real, I know that is too mundane for a spy like you.” She bit her lip and scrubbed at her cheeks with her hands. “You know what? Fuck this. I am not going to beg for you. I know you are a super hero and I am just a nobody. But I’ll do what you didn’t have the balls to do. We’re done, Barton.”

Darcy lifted her chin and crossed her arms, proud and strong even with the tears sliding down her face. She was a mess. Her face was red and streaked with make up. Still when she sucked in her cheeks and arched one eyebrow, Clint had never felt a straighter shot to the chest.

“Nothing to say? Fine. I guess we _are_ done.” She started to walk off, and he knew he would only have to hold strong for a few more steps. Then, she paused. “You know what? Fuck you Clint. This is going to suck, because we still have to work together. I don’t know what I did, other than be myself. And I guess if that wasn’t enough for you, I am glad we're through.”

The door slammed shut with a hollow sound.

Clint didn’t think he had even felt this empty when Loki left.

 

- 

Surprisingly, it was Tony Stark who sought him out with something akin useful. He had deleted the drunken messages from Jane without listening to them. Thor stared at him with disappointment and Steve with disapproval. Bruce just avoided him, which was an indicator in itself. If the good doctor didn’t trust his temper around Clint, then he must be pissed. Natasha was neutral; she was silent. She rolled with his harder punches and matched them, blow for blow.

So when Tony showed up near the edge of the shooting range a week after the break up, Clint had had just about enough. He was miserable, and that misery twisted within his gut in sharp contrast to the joy from before. To be honest, he did not really mind the hate from his teammates; Clint figured he deserved it.

“Are you going to ignore me?” Tony leaned his hip against a table stacked with weapons. “I can be very persistent and annoying, you know. I even brought a toy.” He held some gadget and stunk of motor oil.

Clint sighed and lowered the bow. “What do you want Tony? Want to threaten me? Lecture me?”

Tony pushed his lips up in consideration, and then widened his eyes. “No. I wanted to talk to you. You know, have a conversation. Check up on how you are doing, and all that jazz.”

Clint laughed and wondered if it sounded as bitter as it had felt. “You are here to see how _I_ am doing?”

Tony smirked. “I’m a humanitarian, what can I say.”

“Okay.” He said and began to dissemble the bow.

“This whole thing was Darcy.” Tony waved a hand around.  “Frankly, it’s a mess.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

He continued as if there was no interruption. “Here’s the thing, though I think you are just being stupid.”

This was the Tony Stark Clint had expected. “Thanks for the support.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You aren’t listening to me. Everyone else doesn’t get it because they aren’t in a relationship.” He winced and said, “I know I hardly the man to give out advice. I’m new to monogamy myself. But I was talking to Pepper and she suggested a couple things. First, that maybe you are doing this out of some strange nobility? Wanting to protect her or something?” He narrowed his eyes at Clint and leaned forward a little.

He kept his face still.

“I did something like that, you know, back when I was dying. Don’t know if Natasha told you about the fun adventures she had stabbing me with needles.” Tony huffed a little and straightened. “Basically, Pep says that strong and silent doesn’t work in a relationship. She also wanted me to tell you that you, and I quote, deserved love and wouldn't get hurt." He turned the gadget in his hands and it lit up. "The other thing she suggested was that maybe it was harder on Darcy then you realized?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony shrugged and fidgeted. He was clearly uncomfortable with this conversation, but had been sent as the emissary. “Well, you know, she’s a normal girl.”

“Yeah, that’s why I did it.” Clint said, shifting his own weight. The archery range was empty but sound carried. Their quiet words bounced off the cement walls and roof, heading towards the target. Even in conversation, he aimed.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t exactly a normal bunch.” Tony began to walk as he talked and Clint wondered if Darcy had picked up the habit from him. “Two assassins, one god, three geniuses and Pepper Potts. Most people would feel a little awestruck by all of that.”

“So?” Clint muttered; he didn’t see how any of this mattered. Darcy had never been awestruck.

Tony nodded. “Darcy, the grand girl she is, took to us swimmingly. But, it would be a little hard on the self esteem being the only ordinary girl in a bunch of extraordinary people.” He spoke without arrogance for once; it was the fact of the matter. “Pepper says that you guys need to sit down and talk it out.” His face tightened and Clint saw Tony’s real feelings. “If nothing else, Darcy deserves to know that the reason your relationship ended wasn’t because she wasn’t good enough.”

Clint didn’t speak. This was irrelevant. He and Darcy were done. Darcy was the most self-assured person he had ever met, and his stupidity wouldn’t dent that.

Right?

 

- 

He talked about it with Natasha, despite their unspoken rule that emotions were not to be discussed.

She took it in stride. Clint sat on her couch, spinning an ivory chess piece in his hands. Natasha pulled a bottle of vodka from some secret liquor cabinet and poured them each a drink.

“Drink.” She ordered, barefaced with her red hair pushed back in a cloth headband. “And put that back, it is over a hundred years old.”

Clint obeyed; he always obeyed.

Natasha crossed her legs and drew her shawl across her shoulders. “Stark is not wrong.” She allowed after a minute of silence. “Even _we_ know that communication is key to a relationship.”

“We seem to function just fine.” He grinned.

“We speak through actions not through words.” She shook her head. “That is not normal.”

Clint groaned and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Why does everything come back to this idea of normal? What _is_ normal? Who wants to be normal?”

“We do.”

He blinked up at her.

Natasha made a quick, cutting motion with her hand. “I am not going to leave SHIELD; this is my life. It is a grass is always greener situation. When your life is all adrenaline, you want stability. “ She sighed, and lifted her gaze to her room. It was modestly decorated in warm colors. It was a space, but not necessarily a home. “We do not settle well, you and I. We have been bullets in guns too long to know how to be anything else.”

“Then why should I even try?” He said with a wry grin.

“Because you will be a better person for it.” She tightened her lips. “If you care about her, as I suspect you do, talk to her. Really talk to her. We speak in silence. We will always hurt ourselves to protect others.” Natasha glanced at him from below pale lashes. “Our lives do not have to be defined like this. We are ourselves.”

For, there had been times when they had not belonged to themselves. When their actions, their thoughts, had been dictated to them. Clint considered this as Natasha opened a book with a title in a language he did not recognize. Why fight to regain control of his mind, his life, if he wasn’t going to live it the way he wanted?

He loved Darcy. That fact was unchanged, nor was it any less frightening. But, for once, he allowed himself to imagine a life where she loved him back. A life where they were able to love each other and be together and maybe that goodness would be enough absolution for a soul weighed down with sin.

 

-

The world was beginning to melt but New York held onto the cold of winter. Rain had replaced snow and the sky was still grey. Clint waited for Darcy outside a coffee shop, the collar of his coat lifted against the drops.

He saw her before she spotted him, but this was nothing new. It was a moment he had always loved, seeing her look for him. Watching her move naturally through a crowd. The red jacket she wore was new, and so were the heeled boots. They both looked expensive. Pepper had taken her shopping then, a little retail therapy to soothe the battered heart. Clint forced himself to look at her face. It was pale and nervous; she bit her lip as she walked. She wore more make up then usual; Natasha liked to use it as a shield too.

Clint honestly didn’t know where he wanted this conversation to go. He knew it would decide everything though. If she took him back, it was more than he deserved. If she didn’t then they would finally be done and the closure would allow them to move on. (He was getting tired of JARVIS burning his coffee.)

He smiled as she approached, but the expression was not mirrored. “How are you, Darcy?”

“I’m confused, let’s just go and get this over with.” She sighed and pushed past him.

Hardly a positive start, but Clint had never backed out of a mission.

Seated above New York’s busy streets, Darcy stared at her drink, out the window, at the other costumers. She looked everywhere but at Clint.

He tried to tell himself it didn’t sting.

“Darcy—“

“Why am I here, Clint?” She met his eyes now. “You made it perfectly clear we were done.”

Come on Barton, man up. He used her words against himself and then dove off that building again, hoping that the arrow he was about to let fly would catch. “I’m sorry.” Clint breathed, shoulders hunched. “I love you.”

The expression on Darcy’s face slid between outrage and surprise. “You what?” She sputtered loudly. “Is this a joke?” A couple of people looked her way and she blushed. “Clint I don’t know what the fuck you think you are doing, but it isn’t funny.”

“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look I messed everything up, I know. I just—I don’t know. Stark came in and started talking about how communication was key in a relationship. And how Pepper told him to tell me _we_ should talk. And then Natasha said that we communicate by silence and that’s not normal. And I started thinking that maybe I should try it? Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Clint was babbling. He never babbled, but once he started he couldn’t seem to stop. “I know I acted like a dick. I realized that I loved you and freaked out. I’ve never been in love before and didn’t know what to do and I just went off of instinct which said to cut and run.” He took a deep breath and dropped his head in his hands. “Which is what you are about to do because you are sane and I clearly am not.”

This time, it was Clint who stared out the window. He couldn’t look at Darcy, he couldn’t see what her expression said. He didn’t want to see the pity or the hate.

Instead, Darcy laughed.

She was laughing at him, which was pretty much the worst scenario he could have envisioned. The mission was done. Clint had said his piece and here was his response. He stood, mumbling. “Yeah well, this was fun.”

And then he was _gone._

He slipped out a side exit and dropped down the stairs instead of walking. Outside, the cold rain slapped his face and Clint focused solely on that sensation. He did not run; he had not fallen so low as so flee at a sprint. So, he was only a block away when he heard footsteps speeding towards him.

He would have welcomed an attack, honestly, something that he could do to prove that he was still a man. Clint stepped into the shadows, tense, and his hand on the gun clipped to his hip.

Instead he saw Darcy, red jacket open and hair plastered to her face. “Fuck.” She muttered and kicked the ground. “Damn spy skills.”

He stepped forward. “Darcy.”

She jumped, holding her hand to her chest. “Clint!” She smiled up at him, eyes bright. “You scared me. Shit, where did you go? One second you were there and the next minute—poof!”

Clint tilted the corner of his mouth into a crooked smile. It was easier to fake.

Darcy saw through it. Rolling her eyes, she reached forward and grabbed his hand. “Remember when you asked me out?”

“Vaguely.” He was cautious, confused.

“We mentioned something about how you were an idiot.” She stepped closer to him.

Hope spilled warmth though his veins. “What are you implying?” Clint asked, mock serious.

“You are still an idiot.” Pushing up on her toes, Darcy closed the distance and kissed him. “Now, let’s get out of the rain because this is not as romantic as everyone says it is. I’m cold. And then we are going to talk about our feelings like grown ups. This time you aren’t going to run away, okay?”

“You laughed at me.”

Darcy pushed her hair off her face. "I was laughing at us. We're such a cliché, I can't stand it."

Clint allowed himself to be led back onto the street. Stretching his free arm up for a taxi, he squeezed Darcy's hand. "So about what I said earlier?"

She beamed up at him. "I love you too. Hell, I've loved you for a while. I just figured the words would scare you." Her hair drooped and dripped; she had never been more beautiful.

Something loosened in his chest and Clint could breathe again.

An elbow jabbed his side. "But don't think you’re off the hook mister. You still acted like a dick and that whole mess is going to take a lot of working through."

Yeah, but with declarations of love out of the way, the prospect of discussing his feelings was less frightening. "To be fair, you broke up with me. I barely said two words in that whole conversation." He teased, as they piled into the car.

"Stark Tower please." Darcy shook her head. "Oh no, I don't get blamed for that. I had been _so_ patient. You don't even know how patient I had been, Jane can tell you."

"Jane will castrate me with a broken beaker if I try and talk to her about you. You got all of my roommates to hate me."

She fluttered her eyelashes demurely. "It isn't my fault that they like me better than you."

"It's just because you feed them." Clint stretched his arm across the back of the seat and Darcy slid up next to him. He bent to kiss the top of her head. "I missed you."

Her smile was soft. "Yeah, me too. But you were gone long before we broke up. That can't happen again, okay? I need to know what is happening in your head. We can figure it out together, but it is that _we_ part that is key."

"And how are you the expert on relationships?"

"Pepper and Jane." She sucked in one cheek and smirked. "And Natasha."

Clint blinked down at her. "No way."

"Way, bro."

"Who is she seeing?"

Darcy giggled. "I am so not telling you. You are going to like stalk him or something."

"I won't!" It was a lie and they both knew it. He grimaced. "Can you at least give me a hint?"

"Sure. You know what, I'll even tell you everything I know about him." She shared with a wicked grin. "I guess he is some old flame, someone she knew back in the motherland.”

Clint waited for a moment. "…You're joking right?"

 

- 

For their first date reunited, they decided to do something crazy. Karaoke hit the top of the list (after paintballing and laser tag were vetoed out of an obvious bias). They found bar with a decent selection of songs and good lighting. It was good enough.

They started the night with beers and careful renditions of songs they know suited their voices.

Three hours and five margaritas later, Clint was singing Journey and Darcy had Spice Girls queued up.

There was no shame. It was cathartic. It leveled the playing field. They were both drunken idiots singing off key.

 Their night really started to improve when Darcy had the idea to film Clint and send it to Tony. Within twenty minutes, the rest of the Avengers team arrived. When Tony saw how many drinks the couple had finished, he asked the bartender to pour the same. For each of them.

Level playing ground, right?

Tony belted out AC/DC, clutching the microphone in a stranglehold. Darcy and Clint heckled from their seats and pelted peanuts at his head.

 “You suck!” Darcy booed.

“Sing Iron Man!” Clint called.

“Free Bird!”

Tony flipped them off and Steve turned to Bruce. “What’s a Free Bird?”

Natasha refused to sing.

Bruce allowed himself to be pushed on stage, but walked off when he saw the song Tony had chosen for him.

“What?” Tony asked, his hands open wide. “I think _It’s Not Easy Being Green_ is a great song.”

Darcy nodded sagely and giggled. “It’s a classic really.”

“If that’s not your style, you could try _Wild Thing.”_ Clint offered, his arm resting across the back of Darcy’s chair.

Bruce threw ice at both of them.

“You missed!”

 Tony spun in his chair, shushing them. “I got Thor to sing _Hit Me Baby One More Time._ It was the only song he knew.”

Darcy tossed her hair proudly. “You’re welcome.”

Clint leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a goddess.” She smelled like sweat and perfume, and he as never more glad to have her back.

 

- 

If life was like the movies, the admittance of love would be enough to heal all ills and Clint and Darcy would live happily ever after. But life was inherently unfair and some fights got rehashed.

Jane thought Darcy was fooling herself by taking Clint back. Tony and Thor seemed supportive (as much as a joke and a slap on the back could be counted as support). JARVIS stopped burning his coffee, which was a plus. Bruce still avoided Clint, although he was fine in the company of others. Clint was a little worried that the next time the Avengers entered into battle, Hawkeye would get a punch from the Hulk. Steve never commented one way or another, but Clint continued to feel the disapproval on the back of his neck like sunburn.

Wounds heal, but scars remain. It was a lesson etched into his skin. Although he made an effort to be more communicative and a better listener, there were layers he always missed.

Scars ached, often when they were forgotten. It was a Stark fundraiser for the rebuilding of New York. All of the Avengers were required to attend, but dates were optional. Clint disliked wearing tuxedos (if he was in a tuxedo it usually meant someone was going to die), but Darcy had asked him. She was stunning in blue and he was proud to be her date.

Perhaps there would be logic to Natasha's method to relationships, lies and secrecy and love remaining a private thing. But Darcy was a public person, and Clint could become the same (at least for a night).

It was not as bad as he expected it to be; Hill and Fury had shown up. He was able to reminisce with other agents about missions. Stories started with tuxedos and evening gowns and ended in blood or seduction. Told with code words and subtle signals, it was the most fun Clint had had a party in a long time.

Later, he found Darcy alone on the balcony, shivering with a bottle of champagne. She frowned at the skyline, glaring at the city lights as if they had offended her.

"What's up?" Clint slipped off his jacket and laid it across her shoulders. He grinned, nodding to the bottle. "Are we going to have our own, private party?" He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm in, but no formal attire this time. In fact, let's go with no clothes at all. What do you say?"

Darcy's eyes had slid towards him and she scowled.

"What's wrong?" He straightened, alert. "Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?"

"No no, you are fine." Her words did not slur, but it was a close thing. She swung upright, unsteady on her feet. "Go back and be cool. Don't let _me_ stop you."

Clint slid his hands into his pockets. So it was a relationship thing. "Darcy, what are you talking about?"

Darcy shook her finger at him. "Oh no. You don't get to act all mature now."

"Fine. I won't." He crossed his arms and frowned dramatically, hoping to draw a giggle from her.

She scoffed and turned.

"Hey, let's talk about this." Clint reached out to grab her hand.

Darcy jerked away, stumbling. "Oh now you want to spend time with me? Are you sure? Because I don't have any cool stories. I have never seduced a duke or killed a drug lord with, I don’t know, my shoes! I'm just boring Darcy." She kicked off her heels, her voice close to tears. "My only super powers involve SHIELD paperwork."

"Believe me that _is_ a super power."

She glared at him and sniffed. "Why would you want me, when you could be with them?" The truth was out and Darcy seemed disgusted with her own insecurities. "Why would you want to be with someone so ordinary and normal and boring?"

"You're not any of those things!" Clint stepped forward, grasping her shoulders. "You're amazing." The words sounded hollow in his own ears although he meant them sincerely.

A couple tears pushed out of the corner of her eyes. "No I'm not. I mean-- I'm not awful. I'm fine. I'm smart and sassy and pretty."

Clint nodded earnestly with each adjective. This was what it meant to be a supportive boyfriend, right?

Darcy rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "But even in those things, I'm just average. I'm pretty enough, but every other woman here is prettier and  _definitely_ thinner. I'm smart enough, I guess, but there are at least half a dozen certified geniuses in this place." She gulped, motioning widely. "I'm not even the sassiest one here! Tony's got me beat and JARVIS is a close second!"

"Okay, now that's not true." Clint wrapped his arm around her shoulders and extricated the champagne with the other. He sat in a nearby couch and pulled her into his lap.

Darcy curled in close, pressing her head against his shoulder.

"Darcy you are the most amazing woman I have ever met," Clint said seriously. "And fair warning, I am going to repeat all of this when you are sober because this matters."

"I'm just being stupid and young and naïve, aren't I?" She muttered, tugging the cuffs of his jacket over her hands.

"No, you're being honest." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Which is more than anyone else in that room can say. You think that they are some how better than you? Let me tell you, there is no bigger group of messed up people than the ones through those doors. We _all_ probably need serious psychological help but we are all too stubborn to admit it. You're the healthiest person here."

"What about Pepper?"

"You mean the workaholic with control needs?" Clint laughed. "You've got her beat. And can I just say? To me, you are the most beautiful woman here. Also your intelligence is much more useful than astrophysics and gamma radiation in real life. And Stark isn't sassy, he is obnoxious and a pain in the ass. You are sassy, you are lovable."

"What about Nick?" The tears had stopped and her voice was steady, even teasing.

Clint considered her words. "Well you have me there. Fury  _is_ prettier, smarter, and sassier than you."

Darcy giggled. "Damn it, I'm doomed."

"Just pray that I never get attracted to eye patches."

"Well I mean it is sexy so--" She shrieked in laughter as Clint ticked her. "Who knows, maybe I'll be overwhelmed by it one day-- stop it!"

They grinned at each other. Clint kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you too. Thanks." She wiped her face. "I think I ruined your jacket."

"Oh no what will I do?" He moaned, putting the back of his hand against his forehead. "I guess I will never be able to wear a tux again. All back tie parties are out of my future, aw shucks."

"Well I heard about this party tonight that doesn't even require clothes..."

 

-

Actions spoke louder then words, and in that language Clint was frankly more comfortable. So they did little things for each other, a habit they established quickly after they started dating again. They crossed no territory that lovers had not crossed before, but it was all new to Clint.

Threats still blossomed like bruises, painful and unexpected. When he could, Clint let Darcy know when he was leaving. He left ice cream in her freezer, a movie by her TV, a book by her nightstand. Little gifts that he hoped said that he was thinking about her, not that he was trying to buy her goodwill.

He wrote no notes; he penned no love letters. When he could, Clint reduced every trace of a paper trail that could connect her to him. This included burning the letters she tucked into his weapons and uniform after he read them (memorized them).

Clint wore the beanie Darcy knit him. After the third joke about the purple stripes, Tony’s secret stashes of alcohol disappeared. Natasha merely smirked when Clint publically gave her a very expensive bottle of vodka; Tony fumed.

Sometimes Clint returned with an empty quiver, but otherwise hale and whole. Darcy would leap on him and color would refill her cheeks.

Sometimes he returned battered with wrapped limbs and nightmares that shook him awake. Darcy would lie at his side, running a gentle hand over his brow while her own wrinkled in worry.

Once, he barely returned at all. One minute Clint was firing at a battalion of Hydra agents and then there was nothing, nothing but pain and the hazy hallucinations of fever. He struggled under burning circus tents while figures with bright blue eyes approached. Stiff hands reached for him, arrows sprouting from their chests like pins. He drowned while Natasha watched, bored, a Red Door looming behind her. The door turned into Darcy’s red jacket while she laughed and Clint stretched out towards her, fingers brushing the fabric and coming away damp. She continued laughing and the Glasgow smile stretched ever wider.

Some people talked about jolting awake, while others described swimming to consciousness. For Clint, it was never so distinctive. He would just wake up and that was that.

Cameras perched in the corners of the hospital room, he noticed first. There were no windows, one door and two chairs. He blinked, hands shifting beneath the sheets. Headphones on and with her feet tucked under her, Darcy scribbled in a journal. Books and snack wrappers littered the ground. Knitting needles poked out of her purse and her laptop blinked beneath it.

 “Darcy.” Clint coughed and winced. He swallowed and tried again. “Darcy!”

Her eyes lifted, her expression caught between guilt and surprise. Pen and journal clattering to the floor, Darcy jumped towards Clint. She caught herself, holding back by the side of his bed. “Hey.” Darcy bit her lip, and started to stretch her hand out towards him. She stilled, fingers curling inward.

Clint pushed himself upright and ignored the pain. He cleared his throat. “Come here.”

Her eyes damp and mouth set, Darcy sat on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

He coughed again. “Like hell.” Clint rasped, trying to smile. “But you know—when in Rome.”

Darcy’s lips tilted upward, and she pressed her fingers to them.

“Hey—are you okay?” He reached out, annoyed with the weakness in his arms.

She took a deep breath and took his hand. “You were really hurt, and then you got really sick.” Darcy grimaced, eyes cutting away. “We weren’t sure—“

It wasn’t the first time Clint had come close to death. It bothered him less this time; repetition had a tendency to blunt the edge of surprise. “I’m here now.” He tried to reassure Darcy. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighed heavily, and smiled wetly at him. “Well not until you get better, bubble boy.”

Clint laughed a little. “Really? That’s the best reference you have?”

“It’s been a long week, dude.” Purple smudges hung below her eyes and greasy hair fell out of a pile on her head. Tension lined Darcy’s shoulders, but it fell away with each pass his thumb made across her hand.

He tugged and she climbed onto the small hospital bed. Darcy warmed him; Clint hadn’t even realized he was cold. “What were you writing?”

Darcy glanced at him from under lowered lashes and pink filled her cheeks. “You are going to laugh at me.”

Clint relaxed against the pillow. “Probably.” He conceded, putting his hand on her knee.

“I was being a dork.” Darcy began.

“As per usual?”

She chuckled, shifting her weight closer to him. “Watch it, buster. Anyway, I was organizing my favorite Shakespeare characters on a graph of sexiness to craziness.”

“You would.” Clint snickered, sinking into the bed. He felt exhaustion pulling his attention, but he pushed it back. “Where did everyone fall?”

“Well, I decided Hamlet’s craziness outweighed his hotness, while Lady Macbeth was the opposite.” Darcy leaned forward to brush her fingers through his hair, gentleness settling around her eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

“I want to be with you.” A yawn sabotaged his declaration.

“You will be. I’m not going anywhere.” Darcy assured Clint, her fingers belaying the promise.

“Good.” He pulled her forward until she was horizontal. “You need sleep too.”

Darcy laughed, a throaty sound. “Okay.”

Sleepiness reigned victorious, but before Clint surrendered, he mumbled. “I love you.”

Lips pressed against his chin and there was whispered vow. “I love you too.”

  

-

When asked why he loved Darcy, Clint could always name several things. There was her smile and her intolerance to spicy foods. These things changed depending on the day, the hour, the minute. He loved her optimism and that she saw what others overlooked. These were not the most important things he loved about her, but they _were_ things he loved about her. (He loved that, above all else, Darcy cared about the world and each person in it.)

In love, there was no hierarchy. There was no scoreboard, no ledger. He loved her for her faults and quirks just as much as her strengths. Clint loved the things she can do better than he, and would admit those weaknesses quickly. There was no winner; this was no game. In this equation whatever you input for X, as long as you include he and she, it would always equal love.

Clint hadn’t expected it; love had always been a challenge for him. He had learned that the battle of lust and manipulation was not love. It was a new experience for him, loving someone whole-heartedly, loving in a wholly generous way. They loved each other not so they in turn can be loved, but rather because it was an overflowing of their hearts and minds that they could not contain.

Clint Barton loved Darcy Lewis.

Darcy Lewis loved Clint Barton.

It was the foundation to their relationship, and no matter what storms raged, it would be enough.

 

 

 

 


End file.
